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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could in fact charge more, especially if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be stunned how many men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. However that wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I needed to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years of ages; however never older. None of the men spending for me desired a lady, simply a lady, and knowing that I really was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it. I had a talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and live with them. They were in love with who I pretended to be for that brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome due to the fact that I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I was in love with my papa. That had changed too and I don't know if something pertained to the other specifically, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty guys or something, the majority of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wished to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at first, but then it didn't and I started liking it.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I might speak with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and loved. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real dad and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his spouse. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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